What Is Desired
by AnnaW14
Summary: Jace is a monster, predator of the night. He preys on that which is his, only turning the strongest. Though his lust for blood and savagery has grown, his longing for a shadow of his past is stronger. Memories of red and green cloud his instinct, forcing himself to revisit the greatest horror he ever commited. No Shadowhunters, only downworlders, etc. WARNING: VIOLENCE
1. Prologue

**Warning: Very dark themes**

What Is Desired:

The scent of alcohol, smoke and sweat filled the air. Jace wrinkled his nose in disgust, watching the mass of humans with a predatory glint. Lights flared up from the dance floor, illuminating the bar and catching his eyes, making them glow with an inhuman aura.

The cacophony of dancers writhed and shook in unison, grinding against anything that moved. All night long he had been given seductive winks and alluring smirks, though none seemed to catch his attention for long. He had to admit, many of the girls were pretty, earning second looks from him, but none had actually caught his attention. They were all your basic run-of-the-mill dolls, sporting blonde curls and big blue eyes. There was nothing particularly interesting to him though. He wanted someone striking; someone with eyes glinting with intelligence and fight, someone that was not classically beautiful, but exotic-He had always been a picky eater.

That was when something caught the corner of his eye. Turning his face to catch a better view, Jace's eyes landed on her. She had an overall pale complexion. Long legs built for a ballerina flowed from narrow hips, hiding behind a halter dress of black lace. Her hair was so blonde that it was nearly white partially covering pale eyes as they darted around the club.

He grinned to himself. _Fresh meat_! She wouldn't be missed around here.

Pushing himself away from the bar with one last swig of his drink, Jace made his way over to the girl. Before making his presence known, he circled around her, prowling as a lion might a gazelle. Hands snaked over his chest, making lame attempts to pull him in, but nothing could sway him. He had selected his dinner for the night and he was _famished._

The creamy whiteness of the girls skin was all that he could see, all that he could focus on. She tilted her head back, wiping her hair to the side in order to expose more of her throat. Blood red lips pulled up at the corners with a devious smirk, light eyes glinting in a mischievous taunt. Jace skimmed his nose along her beating pulse, pushing his self-control farther than he should.

This thought barely made an impression on his psyche. Instead of stopping, he began nipping at the soft skin below her earlobe, eyes raking down her long legs, now curled with desire. The girl let out a cry of pleasure; gasping with each bite he placed upon her skin. Jace grinned, knowing his teeth would soon pierce her skin and revel in the liquid warmth that ran through her body. She was molten gold in his eyes; the drop of cider on a cold winter's night.

The girl's cries soon melded into one continuous melody. Jace had to admit, he enjoyed this too; though with each thrust he pushed himself a little closer to the edge. This girl would die. Soon. He never left with a guilty conscious; in fact, guilt had never crossed his mind.

_'Except with her.' _A tiny voice chided from the depths of his mind.

Jace truly hated that voice. Nevertheless, he shook it off, rearing his attention back onto the girl as he shuddered with release. He allowed his arms to give out, collapsing his body on top of the girl's, both panting in unison.

"Wha-what's your name?" She stuttered, racing to calm her breaths.

Jace leaned up to a sitting position, pulling her with him until she rested in his lap, her back pressed to his chest. He pushed her hair to the side, bringing his lips to her neck once more. He could hear the erratic beat of her heart, sending blood pounding through her veins. When she swallowed, Jace felt every movement, every twitch, and every contraction of every muscle. The rose scent of her perfume lingered on her skin, transferring to his body, filled his nose. He wrinkled it in distaste, pressing snide comments aside.

"Jonathan." he sighed. "My name is Jonathan."

The girl's lips quirked up, forming a smile at the sound of his voice. She hummed gently before moving her lips to form her next words. "Jonathan." She tested it out. "That's a nice name, Jona-"

Jace bit into her neck with the savagery of a wolf, tearing her throat open with ease. Her voice cut off, a horrific cry of terror wrenching it's way through her throat. His own vicious snarl masked her scream as his hands secured her writhing body.

Jace's hand covered her mouth, holding her neck still so that he could better access her blood. Hot sustenance poured into his mouth, quenching and soothing his parched insides. Strength returned to his muscles with renewed vigor, allowing him to drain her quicker. Jace grew stronger as she grew weaker, gradually loosing her pointless fight. Blood dribbled down his chin in a steady stream, snaking it's way down their entangled bodies.

The closer she came to her end, the more heightened Jace's senses grew. He could hear the drip of blood as it fell from their bare bodies. He could hear the voices of partygoers outside the room and down the block. He could feel the tremors of bodies moving in the room over, and he could taste the humidity in the air.

His eyes roamed up to the floor length mirror across form where he sat, eyes taking in the reflection staring back at him. He was perched powerfully on the edge of the bed, golden eyes devouring the dead girls body. Her limbs, once graceful and strong, now stretched limply across his lap. She was deadweight, no longer warm and beautiful. Her soft skin, pale, dull, and graying, was beginning to fall into decay. The only color that remained on her body was that of the fallen blood.

Hating for it to go to waste, Jace flicked his finger over it, cleaning off the tip of his finger. Her body slumped to the ground with a resounding thud as he stood, quickly dressing himself. Jace fastened his belt around his hips, smoothing the front of his shirt, and checked his reflection once more. An easy smirk crossed his fine features, marring their perfect appearance.

Jace turned toward the door, giving one last thought to the nameless girl on the floor. Before exiting, he paused, turned back, and flicked several coins over her body. Such a simple gesture, it seemed, one that had become a force of habit ever since his greatest act of cruelty; his masterpiece, as he referred to it.

The golden man strolled out the door, sparing no more glances backward. He stepped into the cold darkness of the street, basking in the sounds of car honks and far off laughter. He paid these no attention, smiling to himself with the thoughts of the girl's last words: his name on her lips.

**Thoughts?**

**This is the darkest story I have written so far. All of the characters will be pretty out OOC, meaning they will do bad things. This chapter left a lot of questions to be answered, have no fear, all will eventually be revealed. **

**Yes, I know I have other stories that need updating, but I have really bad writers block right now, and just felt the need to write something else. I have soooooooo many story ideas and want to get them out there in order to work on them as I see fit. My profile will have a better description of what is going on if you want more answers as to why I am starting another story.**

**Thanks! Review! Review! Review!**


	2. Strangers

Strangers-

It was between seasons. When the leaves had fallen from the trees and the winter winds had only just started to bite. The ground was dead, dry and hard as it prepared for the freezing temperatures to come. Breath oozed from human lips in great clouds of precipitation, and huddled figures rushed about. The sky was an overcast grey, threatening to spill frozen daggers on to the unprepared townspeople below.

Jace wore a long wool coat, head covered by a tall black hat. Beneath it her wore a fine suit of the blackest thread, painting a contrast to his light skin. Gloved hands grasped a black cane embellished in the shape of a silver serpent's head. The creature's emerald eyes glared at greedy onlookers, taunting them. Hungry eyes followed him as he leisurely strolled down the cobblestone path, a confident smirk resting on his face. He was perfectly aware that he was the wealthiest man on the street and that this was indeed a dangerous pastime.

Had it not been for the deadly glint in his eyes and the survival instinct that ran through human flesh, Jace had no doubt that he would already be dead, his belongings bartered off for gold. This was, after all, one of the poorest neighborhoods in London. Sickness ran rampant, and street gangs ruled, while whores patrolled the alleys, seeking a bed to warm for the night's meal. Many of these women rested in the shadows, huddling in groups to keep warm in their revealing attire. Some ventured close, calling to him in an attempt to real him in like a fish on a hook. Their painted faces seductively winked, unknowingly calling to their own demise. They were the game, and he their killer.

Though some of the girls made tempting offers, he was not there for whoring. He was, rather, on a scouting mission. It had been a while since he had been in London, and was eager to taste what fruits the city had to offer. It was far too early to hunt, but later that night he would return for blood.

Despite the early hour of the day, drunkards had already begun piling up. The ditches to the side of the main street were lined with men, passed out or too far gone to stand. They rolled about in the mud like a pigsty, the vile stench of piss and vomit filling the air. Jace wrinkled his nose in disgust, but continued on his path.

Aside from the occasional shouts of schoolboys, the landscape remained bland and void of color. The buildings were made of hollow wood, rotting at its core, and faded brick. Any plant life that remained in these later months was poorly cared fro and ran freely, tangling in the cracks of the cobblestone path, wrenching them farther apart.

Just then, something caught his eye. It was a flash of color, standing out against the bleak background of faded stone and rotted wood. A small girl, no older than six or seven, stood on a lonely street corner. Even from a distance he could tell she was freezing, tugging a thin scrap of a jacket closer to her shoulders, though it did little to stop the chattering of her teeth.

Her alabaster skin was dotted with freckles, framed by a wild tangle of unkempt crimson curls. Jace could see the deep emerald of her wide set doe eyes and the movement of her cherry lips. She stood on her toes, craning her neck as if searching for someone in the crowd. As he approached, his senses focused in, catching the words that flowed from her chapped lips.

"Flowers to raise you spirits for the coming months. Only a penny for the bushel." Her voice rang out, soft and sweet as a feather, though intermittently interrupted by and angry cough. Her small blue fingers were wrapped around a homemade wicker basket, overflowing with the only life in this desolate city sewer. Poppies as red as her hair strained against the wind, the silky petals occasionally tearing and vanishing into the air; little drops of blood against a grey sky.

Only when she met his eyes did her realize that he stood in front of her. They sat for a moment, regarding the other as one might a newly discovered specimen. Jace towered over the small child, casting a great shadow over her delicate bones. Before he could process her emotions, she was rudely yanked to the side by a filthy hand. One of the drunken men had captured her cheeks in an iron grip, tearing the flowers from her numb hands.

"'Ello little girlie." He sneered. "How about you find that pretty mother of yours and tell her to get on her knees for me. I've got a real appetite for reds tonight." He pulled his hand back roughly, striking her across the face. Her head snapped back, a cry wrenching it's way out of her throat, as she stumbled away. Before the man could grab her again, Jace sprang into action, bringing his cane down on the man's outstretched hand.

Leveling his face with the man's own, Jace ground out, "You will not touch her with that hand ever again." He took that opportunity to bring his foot down on four of the five fingers, effectively snapping them, rendering them useless. The fool cried out, much like the girl had, cursing him with the intellect of a sailor. One look from Jace and he was scurrying off, cradling his injured hand, panting like a dog. One glance around and Jace realized that no one had given them any notice, as if this was a common occurrence and not anything particularly interesting.

A small huff drew his attention to the girl, now crouched down, collecting the soiled and torn flowers. She looked utterly destroyed, as if she had just witnessed the death of a close friend. Jace couldn't blame her; it must have taken only the finest and most delicate care to preserve the flowers so long into the cold months. Her hard work was ruined and she had nothing to show for it.

Taking pity, Jace knelt down, gathering the last few buds into his hands before placing them in the precariously woven basket. When he had finished, he realized that she has looking at him in unrelenting awe. Catching his gaze, she quickly looked away, blushing a scarlet deeper than her already wind bitten cheeks.

"Penny for a bushel." She whispered timidly, still looking away.

Jace sighed and stood up, reaching into his pocket for a gold piece. He held his hand out in offering, "I'll take the whole bunch."

The child gasped, looking at him in shock. "I-it-it's too much!" she whispered, averting her gaze once more.

"It's just enough." He countered, grasping her open palm in his, closing her fingers around the piece.

Another blush, one of elation, made it's way across her face. She looked at him again, as if to make sure he was telling the truth, before smiling a wide toothy grin. Her eyes lit up before snatching the money and darting into the thick crowd; a flash of life in a decaying graveyard.

Jace straightened, righting his hat and smoothing out his coat. Jace checked his pocket watch, examining his teeth in the reflection, before shaking out his stiff neck and continuing on his hunt for sustenance. The only difference was, this time he had a real smile on his face.

He awoke, startled into consciousness. If he had still been human, he would have been covered in a cold sweat, heart hammering like a drum. Groaning, Jace rolled onto his side, sweeping the back of his hand over his eyes. He lay there for some time, not thinking, just sitting.

This had been the first time she had crossed his mind in what had to be decades. He thought he had successfully repressed all memories involving her, though, he was now proved wrong.

More than anything, Jace was unsettled. It had been so long since he had last seen her, and now she seemed to be popping in to his thoughts more and more frequently. When he was going in for the kill, he would see her face, eyes wide and terrified as she stared up at him. His victims had started looking more and more like her, more often then not sporting red hair and a small stature. When he walked down the street, he was bombarded with her scent, chasing images of her smile into his thoughts. She was getting harder to ignore and he hated himself for it.

Begrudgingly, Jace stood up, stepping toward the balcony of his hotel suite. Pushing the luxurious curtains to the side, Jace was met with the crisp air of autumn. It was slightly past four a.m., but the city was still roaring with late night partiers. Once upon a time, Jace had thrived on that sort of lifestyle, but, like most things, it had passed. It no longer enticed him as it used to, no longer caught his attention. Jace hated to admit it, but he was getting bored with life. Nothing was new anymore. Nothing every changed. Life was a used soundtrack, endlessly repeating without something to change its course.

Jace needed a vacation.

**Penny for your thoughts?**

**What did you guys think? I know it was a little creepy with Jace meeting Clary when she was a kid, but I justified it because everyone is technically a kid in comparison to Jace (immortality and all). You should let me know what you want to see next, I'd love to hear from you guys!**


	3. Reminisce

Reminisce-

Over the next few days, Jace wandered the city. In that time, he became a stranger to the spoken work, ignoring those who addressed him, and continuing on his way. He had no destination in mind, but for that which was quiet. He needed to clear his thoughts, find out how to silence the infernal etchings of his mind, always allowing Clary to enter his thoughts.

Clary.

He could remember the last time he had seen her. It had only been a glance in the distance. He remembered walking down the streets in the 9th arrondissement in Paris, breathing in the scent of fresh baguette and warm sables. It was mid June in 1981, the pinnacle of tourist season, and the streets were packed. Giant tour groups rudely stormed the middle of the street, stopping cars and bumping into fruit stands as they went. Jace had sneered at them, preparing to escape the throngs of sweaty sunburned animals, when something snatched away his attention.

He caught wind of his favorite flowers. The soft scent of poppies blew through the crowd, casting a silent blanket of comfort over all. Floral Notes of melted brown sugar and freshly cut grass sent a wave of silence over the crowd, alleviating the horrible noise that seemed to stalk humans.

He smiled.

Jace felt the light ruffle of wind graze his cheekbones, gently stroking his hair back. A pale memory tickled his senses. He could feel the tips of her fingers, warm with a beating heart, dance across his cheek to his hairline. She had pulled a broken leaf from his hair. He had watched in fascination as she had brought it to her lips, giving the faintest of blows, and watched as it daintily wandered through the air to its next resting place.

She had smiled then; laughter ringing like bells and tasting of liquid honey had rushed through his mind.

He had smiled back.

The sound of a car horn pulled him from his haze. Shaking his head, Jace had looked up, only to freeze where he stood once more.

She was there.

Clary was there, not twenty feet away from him.

If he could have taken a breath, the air would have rushed from his lungs in a heartbeat. Her red hair had been so much brighter than in his memories of her. It ran down her back in great pillars of curls, standing like a Grecian monument. In that moment he wished more than anything that she would have turned around, if only for his sake. He wanted nothing more than to see her eyes again.

From this angle he could see the perfect shape of her lips as she began speaking to the flower vendor. He strained his ears in an attempt to hear her voice. He so much wanted to hear the soft symphony of musical notes that flowed so effortlessly from her. Of course, the noise of the crowd pressed too thickly to his ears, forming a sound barrier between them. Never had he wanted to commit mass murder so much as in that moment.

Finally freeing himself from the herd, Jace stood on the exact opposite side of the tiny street from her. He could see each hair on her head defined by the sunlight, little dust particles floating past in the air, igniting the flame that seemed to emanate from the very space around her. He wanted so much to call out to her; to see her eyes and watch as she smiled. He wanted to hear her voice and laugh with her as he once had. Despite all that, something held him back.

In his mind he had envisioned some great poetic reunion, something full of tears and joy and desperate gasping. He realized, in that moment, that what he desired was that of a returning soldier long thought to be dead. But he wasn't a soldier anymore. He was the enemy.

Jace turned from her, feeling an enormous weight settle over his shoulders. He wanted to see her, yes, but only the idea of her. He wanted to see imaginary Clary, not the real one. So caught up in his own head, Jace had forgotten all the things he had done. No matter how much he wanted to see her eyes and hear her voice, he wasn't sure if he could handle the disappointment. He knew that the light would fade from her eyes and vicious words would escape her mouth, cutting him like knives. Jace didn't want to ruin any happiness she may have found.

It was the single most selfless thing he had ever done, turning his back that day, and God how he regretted it.

_"Pull yourself together."_ He muttered lowly to himself, giving his hair a sharp tug as he combed it back. _You're getting soft._ He thought.

And yet…he felt no need to go out and get drunk. He did not feel thirsty with lust, nor did he desire the dark and sweaty caverns humans called clubs. He did not want to lure some helpless mundane to her gruesome and untimely death. No. Jace wanted something quiet and respectable. He wanted to find something inoffensive and possibly comforting. Jace felt no need to satiate the animal today.

It was then that he came across a dark little alley. He paused, furrowing his brows and examining the dust and dirt collected on the walls. The wind had guided the layers of dirt and musk into a delicate pattern of intersecting circles, dancing about as one would a ballroom. Then, his eyes caught the outline of a small shop in the shadows.

_"Luke's Book Shop"_ The window read in a haphazard take on classical cursive.

Intrigued by this discovery, Jace stepped forward into the abyss, allowing the shade to envelop him completely. He stalked toward the faded blue door, worn with age, and sporting evidence of the harshness of the New York weather.

Jace cringed at the sharp creak that came from beneath his feet as he stepped onto the porch. He was so used to moving with absolute silence that any noise made on his behalf was a foreign concept. Nonetheless, he stepped forward, pushing the hole-filled door aside.

Inside was nothing like he had expected. Unlike it's decaying exterior, the contents of the store were anything but. Mountains of books filled floor to ceiling shelves, pressing so tightly against one another that he feared the walls would separate. There was not a wall in sight that was not covered by bookcases. Ladders were placed in odd corners, attached to railings, so as to be moved easily, though, based on the amount of rust, Jace doubted that any of them would function properly. Every so often, where there was any amount of free space, mismatched tables would stand, covered with parchment, pens, bookmarks, and an assortment of lamps.

Everything about the place held warmth. Nutmeg and mahogany wood was accented by deep hues of red, green and blue. The place seemed like a classical cabin, somewhere anyone could feel at home. As Jace wandered, he came across countless nooks and crannies outfitted for comfort so as to be lost inside another world.

Jace had to admit that the place surprised him. It seemed to go on forever, always leading him onward, through hallways and dens, the books were never-ending. It was this fact that garnered his respect for the place. He had always adored the written word: the transfer of stories through the linguistic capabilities of the author. Everyone had their own style, their own signature in writing. He had never been much for his own work, though he admired the skill and thought that others managed.

_Clary had always been a good writer._ He thought. And it was true; she always had a certain way with words. She could take the simplest of things and turn them into a masterpiece that even Dante would envy.

Jace had to admit he might have been biased. Nevertheless, he envied her talents. The same talent she had with words was transferred to her drawing capabilities. She didn't need words to tell a story. All she ever needed was a pencil or piece of charcoal and the imagery would simply flow onto the page of her sketchbook. Jace on the other hand, could play music. Her artistic talents had abandoned her when it came to music, a fact that Jace had teased and taunted her with when they first met.

He smiled once more at the memories, allowing them to wash over him like the sea. It wasn't often that he let himself think too much of her. Perhaps he needed to cleanse himself of her. He needed to purge her from his thoughts so he could rest easy once more.

The sharp noise of paper turning caught his attention. Someone was standing on the other side of the bookshelf. He didn't know why, but something drew him to the other person.

Jace, almost shyly, stepped to the corner of the shelf, craning his neck to get a better view of the mystery person. What he saw on the other side nearly jolted his heart into action.

A harsh whisper tore it's way out of his throat before he could even begin to stop it. His voice was no more than a ghost, though it was enough to catch the person's attention. Wide green eyes met his for the first time in decades, awakening a dormant war and setting it into action.

"Clary?"

**Agh! Sorry for the long wait, I haven't been inspired by any of my stories until now. It's funny, I always have very specific scenes planned out in my head, and yet can never figure out how to connect them. It is really quite frustrating; of this I can assure you.**

**Anyhow… Please review! It means so much to me to hear from you guys. If you have any ideas on what should happen next, please message. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!**

**P.S. There is a memory within another memory at the top (If you were confused).**


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